Smelling of rich mahogany since 1984.

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Brisket Tacos.

Not so long ago, I decided I would blog about the 10 dishes that shaped who I am.

It sounds a bit corny, but let me finish.

Growing up, I was a horrendously picky eater. My parents weren’t the parents who made me finish everything on my plate, but they also weren’t the parents who catered to their children. Night after night, we would sit down at the dinner table to find another glorious home-cooked meal. My brother and I were instructed to “no, thank you bites,” where we would try a nibble of every item on the plate. If we didn’t like it (which for me, almost always), we didn’t have to eat it. Mom was smart enough to give me a huge helping of something she knew I liked (“You know, you spent most of your childhood with potatoes up your nose”) so I didn’t go to bed starving.

One thing that I did love when I was a kid was the taco: ground beef mixed with the Old El Paso seasoning packet, hard corn tortillas, and a shitload of shredded cheddar.

From my 4th Grade “Yearbook.” I still love tacos, and my favorite color is still purple. I’ve grown out of my Ace of Base phase, however.

Now that I’ve grown up, my tastes have most certainly evolved (see: culinary school), and so have my taste and quests for tacos.

It also doesn’t hurt to have a significant other who requires tacos at least once a week.

And so long ago, my friend and I made an arrangement to make brisket tacos. As brisket takes a long time to prepare, we made this a Sunday Funday activity.